Page 128 of Hard to Score

“Did you?”

“No. I don’t expect you to believe me, but no. I didn’t. I told them it was a load of crap. They responded with their own offer. If I walked away from the game and never spoke of the situation again, they’d pay out the rest of my contract. They said they believed me that I didn’t do it, but they couldn’t risk the NFL taking the championship away or investigating all of our other games. They said it was a one-time offer and I had to accept right then and there or I could face the investigation.” Tears pool in his eyes again. “I took the deal, son. I was broke, I’d ruined my career, and if I took the deal I had a way to provide for my family.”

I lean back in my chair and close my eyes as I replay his words over and over in my head. As I try to poke holes through things I have no knowledge of. But why would he lie? Why all these years later would he lie?

But then I remember he had.

“You blamed this on Kenyon. You even stood in my house last week and told me to kick Brexton out because she’s his daughter. You gave me the ultimatum—her or you. Why? Are you that weak a man you had to blame somebody else?”

“Yes.” He nods and then shakes his head. “Do you remember that day I told you? You were so angry and I was more than devastated over what I’d done to my family and walking away from all I’d ever known. You yelled at me. You questioned and demanded and, for the first time in your life, you looked at me like you were ashamed. I deserved it. Fuck did I. But I will never forget that look in your eye and so when you asked if Kenyon was at fault, I took the chickenshit way out and ran with it. And I’ve sold the lie, protected it, fostered it, ever since because I needed you to believe that I was a good guy, son. I needed to know that even after I did all of this, you didn’t hate me.”

I shove up out of the chair, brace my hands on the back of my neck, and walk to the windows, looking out at the pitch-black beyond the panes.

“But you blamed somebody else,” I say, my voice rising in pitch. “Couldn’t you just once, own up to something? Couldn’t you just—fuck!”

Frustration eats at me. I understand why he did one thing but not the other. I understand making a reckless, split-second decision in the moment, but I can’t comprehend carrying it on for ten years.

“Son—”

“Please, don’t son me right now. Please don’t . . .” I scrub my hands over my face and blow out a breath. Fuck. I lost the Kincades due to my father’s selfishness. I lost two good men in my life, and look how that has screwed with every aspect of it. I lost respect for a man who still deserves it. And Kenyon then lost Claire. And Brex . . . My mom should have been there for Brex and her sisters when they lost their mom. But because of this man in front of me, she lost my mom too. Fuck. So fucking selfish. That’s what I can’t reconcile. He could have made this play out differently. “So even if this is all true—”

“It is true.”

“Even if this is all true,” I repeat, “it doesn’t make any sense why you kept me at arm’s length. If I was threatened, if you did all of this to save me, why did it feel like you didn’t love me anymore? Why did it feel like you wanted nothing to fucking do with me?”

And isn’t that the goddamn question of the year? Because even if I believe all of what he said, I can’t bring myself to understand why he acted like he did.

“They picked you because you were my world. Yes, I love your mother and Maggs in their own ways, but you were a carbon copy of me. Right or wrong, Drew, the sun rose and set with you. I thought, I figured, if I stepped back and didn’t outwardly show that it did—that you’d be safe. That they’d know nothing mattered to me and therefore there was nothing more they could threaten.”

My chest aches beneath my breastbone and my head swims with all of this.

“But your debt was paid. Life moved on. At some point that no longer became a valid excuse.”

“At first, they left notes letting me know they were still watching, that they would know if I told anyone the truth . . . but you’re right. Everything moved on except the fear I lived with every day that someone wanted to hurt you because of me.”

“I don’t buy that. I can’t. I spent every goddamn game looking in the stands at all the other fathers cheering their sons on praying there’d come a day when I’d see you there. Even if it were in the shadows with a hat hiding who you were, I wanted you there. I still do.” It kills me to admit it but it’s true. “I spent week after week trying to make you proud, trying to make you feel anything when it came to me other than indifference. Maggie could overdose and have a kid and fuck up time and again and it was okay, but I played a game you walked away from and you hated me for it.”

“I never hated you for it, Drew.” He shakes his head frantically. “Never. I was so proud of you but I was terrified you’d fall into the trap I fell into. I was worried that you were so like me in every other aspect that—”

“That what? I’d be weak like you and fuck up my whole life?” my voice thunders. “Well, guess what, you still fucked it up.”

He nods. His shoulders sag and his posture is defeated. “Until the one thing you love the most has been threatened, until you are in my shoes, you have no clue the lengths you’d go to, to save your kids. Even if that means being hated when all is said and done.”

“I think it would make you hold on tighter to the things you love.”

“Perhaps.” He nods and meets my eyes with a clarity I haven’t seen in some time. “I only hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me.”

I stare at the man I used to idolize and wonder if I’ll ever be able to forgive him, or if the years of hurt and what felt like neglect are too powerful to overcome.

I think of the endless unknown we lived with, the lies we were covered in, and wonder how different things could have been without them. For Maggie and Charley. For my mom. For me.

“I don’t know.” It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in the moment and when he meets my eyes, I can’t stand the sadness I see. The hope is erased. The realization that even though he told his truth, it might not be enough.

My mom has been in hiding, rather than the socialite she loved to be. Maggie lost a present father all those years ago, and all it took was some asshole showing her attention, and we lost her too. Did his addiction foster hers somehow? Or would we have eventually lost her anyway? And my story is just as disappointing.

Until now.

But I refuse to let it be.